Murdering One Direction

The First Meeting

"Simon, I need to go solo." Louis tried to keep his eyes focused on his manager, Simon Cowell, but his glorious, angelic chest hair stole his gaze as it spilled across his bosom like the mane of a lion. "I'll never be appreciated if I'm stuck behind Mr. Wonder Locks, aka he who must not be named, aka Harry fricken Styles."

The two had been debating this topic for over 20 minutes in a local coffee shop aptly named The Most Fricken Sweet Coffee Shop Around (for it was, as the name suggests, the most fricken sweet coffee shop around). However, another local coffee shop, The Most Fricken Sweet Coffee Shop in Town, was generally more successful and better-managed (As evident from the fact that it is not only the most fricken sweet of coffee shops around, but in the whole town). This shop had seen better days, but the fact that it was significantly less busy than its local counterpart made it an ideal spot for meeting Simon on the down low. That, and the chocolate chip fraps were to die for.

Louis was noticeably distraught. Harry Styles was rapidly becoming more and more popular ever since he starred as the provocative and rebellious cop, Sexy Steve, in the new hit classic 50 Shades of Gay. But could Louis really blame him? How can anybody resist his tantalizing charm as he moaned his now-famous catchphrase, "You have the right to remain..." *pause for dramatic effect with a slight pelvic thrust and Michael Jackson-esque squeek* "Sexy!"

Simon paused for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. "I'm sorry Louis, well... Actually, I'm really not sorry lol, I'm Simon Cowell. If you went solo, you'd become the most popular singer in the entire world, which would cause One Direction to split, sending the world into a reverse spinning vortex, creating a nuclear apocalypse, and thus ending time and space...and Glee. Which actually wouldn't be that bad, honestly."

"You don't know that," Louis snarled. "I know the truth about you! I know the real reason you won't let me go!"

The countenance of Simon's face shifted into a panic. "You, uh, know the truth? Well... uh..." Simon sputtered and desperately tried everything in his power to change the topic. "Hey, uh, you ever noticed that, uh, the weather is, um... good?"

Simon was employing  the cheekiest smile he could muster. Louis saw right through the guise. "Simon, don't try to change the subject. I know the truth! You don't want me to go solo because... You know you'd miss having me around!"

Simon sighed so hard you could have sworn he'd just been acquitted for murder. "Haha yes, you caught me. That's exactly why!" 

Once Simon was able to compose himself, he continued "Anyway, I still can't let you go Louis. You signed a contract, and as far as I'm concerned, as long as One Direction is alive and well and that contract is signed, you are bound to me!" Simon began to laugh maniacally, probably at the thought of all the money he'd make off of the suffering of those poor boys who had unknowingly sold their souls to him for eternity by agreeing to form One Direction.

Louis was fed up with Simon's antics. This always seemed to be how their conversations went. Simon always had to bring up the fact that he had sold his soul to him in exchange for being in the band. It was so annoying. "You know what," Louis bellowed, "I don't have time for this." Louis hoisted himself up abruptly and hustled out the door. He needed to clear his mind, so he galloped into a wooded glen and after punch dancing out his rage and suffering an extremely long and very painful fall, he knew what had to be done.

Rumor had it that there was one person who could help him; however, it's impossible to find him – he has to find you.

Hopeless, and realizing there was no actual way reach out to this stranger, Louis caught the next bus heading home. He slumped his way to a seat in the back corner next to a sweaty, clinically obese man with a habit of awkwardly and "accidentally" stroking Louis on the thigh. This went on for several minutes before a sexy and sensually-hooded stranger sat his scrumptious buttocks in the seat next to him.

In fact, the stranger was so handsome, if the wrong person were to behold his glory, their eyes would turn to dust, their brains would melt into a puddle of liquefied rainbows, and they would live every day after this fabulous event, a homosexual. Or at least they'd learn how to be a better dresser or something.

Louis recognized this gorgeous face from somewhere, he just wasn't sure where. The deep green eyes like the luscious, dense treetops of the Amazon rain forest. His chocolate brown hair, silky-smooth and gallantly flowing in the wind (despite that there was, in fact, no breeze inside the bus). His bulging muscles seemed eager to tear through this suspicious black hoodie hiding all of his extravagantly sexy features. He looked Louis Tomlinson straight in the eyes and spoke in a hush, whispered voice that was somehow sexier than Morgan Freeman's.

"I hear you're trying to go solo. I can help, but it'll cost you." A look of confusion smeared across Louis's face, so this stranger took off his hoodie, exposing his radiantly beautiful face. "Sorry, I do my best to not allow others to gaze upon me. In my line of work, the less people that know who I am, the better." Louis still didn't understand what in the heck was going on so the narrator stopped talking in the 3rd person. "Look," I began, "Do you want to go solo or not?"

"Hold on, who are you?" Louis was growing impatient. Either I was irritating him by not exposing my identity, or he was obviously envious of my flowing locks.

"You can call me X. I won't tell you my real name, only my true friends know my name... And Siri. Siri also knows my name. However, I tell siri to call me "King Meme Daddy Jedi Swag Master" that way, The Russians can't steal my phone and have Siri disclose who I am. Now you may be wondering, why would the Russians want to know who I am? Well you see... Actually, I'm just now realizing that I'm over explaining myself." The Russian story is a good one. I'll have to remember to tell him later. "I'll just start telling you what's up. I want One Direction gone, you want to go solo. That's all you need to know. Together we can end the worst thing to happen to the world since the birth of Justin Bieber. We'll discuss monetary specifics later, but when all is said and done, the profits of your solo career should be split at an even 50/50."

"Okay. I'll accept your offer, but we split the profit from my solo career 40-60."

Honestly, I was never expecting to get half his money. Life lesson #37 on my list of "99 Life Lessons to Know in the World of Assassins" (Buy it now on Amazon or your local Barnes and Noble). When you're bartering, always start by asking for more than you know you'll get. Well that or just kill the person and take their money... That won't work in this case. Unfortunately, my plan requires Louis to be alive.

"Sure. You get 60, I'll get 40 fair enough." I replied.

"No. You get 60, I'll get 40 or the deal is off." He insisted.

Baffled by his buffoonery, I continued. "Okay... I get 60, you get 40?"

"I change my mind 30-70."

"Uhhh–"

"Fine. 20-80."

"Dude, what?"

"You know what just take all the money, I don't want it."

"Sure... So we got a deal?"

Louis didn't hesitate, "With a face as gorgeous as yours, how could I say no?"

Uncomfortable, but somewhat flattered, I tried to shake off his statement. "Anyway, back to the business at hand,"

 A sudden spark of malicious intent spread across his slightly-above-average face. "What has to be done?"

The grin sprawling its way across my face was as about as mysterious as Sexy Steve... uh, not that I would know. "We need to murder One Direction."